


The Last Days Of The Universe

by Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound



Category: Original Story
Genre: I don't go into detail with that though so, SO, So I originally wrote this based on a pinteest prompt, and then I got a bunch of comments asking for the story, but not very graphic, here it is I guess, plz don't hate me, the most teen part is where a character commits suicide, there is violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound/pseuds/Will_I_Ever_Make_A_Sound
Summary: What happens when the universe ends? When the song slows? When Death comes to collect what is fortold? What happens when the final sunset happens, the final realization of Love, the way it crumbles into black?Aka:This is a really pretty but... largely interpretative and metaphorical collection of "short stories", detailing what I imagine the fantastical end of the world would be like. It counts down from Day 5 to the nonexistent Day 0, where the stories ends.





	1. Day 5

**Author's Note:**

> First of all thank you thank you thank you for all you people who commented on my Pinterest "try", especially the wonderful

Everything will slow; the pulse, the driving rhythm, the people, the stars, the black holes. Everything will hold its breath and be still. Silence will wash over everything like a wave, and a strange sense of serenity and relief fills the beings of Earth, from the smallest ant to the mightiest king. The feeling that the time has come is rising over creation, and all will slow. A light grey mist will rise from the dust of dead and blanket everything in a strangely natural light. No mouse nor planet will stir, for they are content. Those who believe in a god believe that he has come for them, and bend on their knees in prayer and blessing, trying to feel the hands of radiant beings like satin rippling over their skin, and those who don't believe as such just appreciate the landscape once more, with the taste of champagne on their tongue, starlight in their voice, and time in their breath and watch the world slow, dancing for the last time in gowns of sky blue silk and pearls and sharp black suits, with knowing smiles and closed eyes, and they know that this is what is, this is what will be, what was, and was was for-told. And they are at peace with the sunset shining on their skin.  
Everything will slow.


	2. Day 4

Death grabs the first one by the hand.   
It is a young girl, with bronze skin, silky black hair and wide brown eyes, holding teddy bear in one hand and all knowledge in the other. She is called many things, and takes many forms, but today her name is Istina, otherwise known in another language as Truth.   
“Do you see that, Mama?” She asked, tugging on another woman's sleeve, pointing at something.   
“See what, sweetie?” She asks, then turns away. Her eyes were milky white but she moved with ease. Oh, the bliss of Ignorance. Swept up in the lavish life she dreamed of, blinded by her own colourful robes, she missed the simplest things, even when they stared her in the face.   
Istina turned back to the thing that captivated her gaze.   
“Mama, is it the end?” She asked, not turning to face her mother. Another person answered.   
“Yes, my girl. Yes,” a wizened man said, shuffling up to her. He cocked his head at her and looked deeply at her with his watery blue eyes. “What do you see, lass?”   
Istina shook her head, clutching her teddy bear against her white dress.   
Wisdom shuffled away, squinting, trying to desperately see but unable to. He mumbled, clutching an old leather book, and walked away. For even Wisdom could not see what Istina could.   
A young man with brown hair and round glasses walked up to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder, kneeling down to be at her level, coat lapels brushing the dusty ground.   
“Is that who I think it is?” He said softly, then pulled a pocket watch out of his pocket. It was frozen, and no longer ticking.   
“Ah, so it is,” he said with a small smile, then brushed his hands on his tweed vest.   
Then he walked off a bit slowly, leaving Istina where she was before. Time, who had figured it out, waited for his turn to go.   
“Hello,” she said, addressing the faint figure of a person in front of her. The person smiled under the hood of their cloak.   
“Are you ready?” A soft voice asked, full of sorrow and joy.   
“I'm a bit scared, sir,” she said, sucking her thumb. “What will happen?”   
“Nothing bad,” the voice in the cloak reassured. “And I'll be with you the whole time. Ok?”   
Istina nodded, and the cloaked person held out a slim, pale hand.   
The young girl grabbed it, and with a whoosh of wind, the two of them left the dusty town.   
Death grabbed the first one by the hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yea I know this makes no sense but humour me ok???  
> also WARNING: next chapter does have suicide in it. If you just want a summary, please comment and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.   
> Thanks bucket loads!!! (Especially to the people who commented on my Pinterest thing. It cut me thanking you at the top. So. Here it is thanks for pestering me)


	3. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have mentioned this 9 million times but this could possibly be triggering   
> (It is also one of my favourite chapters sooooo... take of that what you will)

Time runs out, in the end.   
In the ruins of an abandoned train station, a young man stood, looking at a pocket watch. He looked to be about twenty years old, and had a mop of brown hair and brown eyes creased is concern. He adjusted the circular frames that perched on his nose, then frowned slightly.   
Like Istina, he also had many names, and many forms, but today we will call him Eilian.   
Eilian tucked the pocket watch into the breast pocket of his vest, then looked around the station, looking for something only he could see. If you looked closely, you could see his hands trembling. But no-one lingered in the brick archways, no figure stood waiting. He took a deep breath then walked over to an old crumbling concrete staircase with strangely ornate depictions of hourglasses in the twisted black steel of the handrail. The place was silent but for the soft sound of footsteps as he ascended the stairs.   
When he reached the top, all was as still and decrepit as it was downstairs. The cobbled walk way was worn smooth by footsteps and old gas lanterns hung in silence from tall, dark poles. The tracks were rusty and little bits of shattered glass twinkled between them, like small stars that fell from the heavens.   
Eilian walked over to the handrails that protected people from the long drop down the that station floor. His hands gripped the top, and he clenched his teeth as he tried to convince his body to move.   
Then there was the tipping point, the point of no return, and Eilian unlaced his dark leather shoes and set them neatly to the side. He then pulled out a folded and yellowed piece of paper out of his pants pocket and set it next to the shoes.   
Then he unconsciously grabbed the pocket watch and held it in his right hand and stood there, feeling the faint tick reverberating through his body, slowing and getting weaker and weaker. And for a moment, Eilian felt afraid. He felt the fear of everyone who ever was, he felt the deep and echoing, coppery and midnight black fear that eats at the heart of all humans: The fear of death. His heart skipped a beat, and so did the watch. He knew he didn't have much time, not much time at all, and a biting cold was already pricking at his skin. It was his time, ironically, as he was Time himself, and he was slowing. He sucked in a breath then swung his left leg over the rail, clutching the railing for balance with his left hand, his right still holding the pocket watch. Then he swung his other leg over and he was sitting on the rail, hanging over the abyss.   
“Stop!” A panicked voice called, just as Eilian was beginning to jump.   
He turned his head, not moving, biting his lip with brows furrowed.   
It was the cloaked figure, the person who took Istina, the thing many people called Death.   
They had reached out a hand, fingers splayed, trying to stop Eilian.   
They stood there, unable to interfere with destiny, but grief rising up inside of them like a spring of despair.   
“This is how it goes,” Eilian said, and Death could see the pain in his eyes, the pain of loss and failure and broken hearts and all that had been wrong and corrupt in the world frozen in his eyes.   
“And in the end, it is a relief, to know that Death will take us all,” He quoted. “Not Shakespeare or anything like that, just the words of a lonely child. Fitting that it's those who think they don't matter that are remembered to the end.”   
“Why can't you just take my hand?” asked Death, taking a deep breath. Eilian smiled, then said   
“Because it's not I'm my nature to meet you, even now. Time will always run out, fleeing from even death.”   
He jumped.   
Death could only stare in silence and wince at the crunch of bones. They walked over to the rail, tucked the note in their pocket, and straightened the shoes, leaving them as a memorial. They descended the stairs and felt bile rise up in their throat at the sight of the broken, bloody body that they could see. The pocket watch, still loosely clutched in Eilian’s hand, had stopped ticking. Then, a single tear rolling down their cheek, they reached the body and turned, and with the whoosh of the black cloak, both Death and Time were gone.   
Time runs out, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so that's sad but moving on


	4. Day 2

Love is quite the vicious motivator.   
Love. Does it really have a definition? The sunlight beaming on your skin? The touch of a lover? The whispering winds that tell you stories at night? Love is infinitely complex, more so than anything else, it is the biggest puzzle of humanity. It is sweeter than caramel, but can be wielded as a weapon sharper than any blade. A little word with big potential, but we limited it to the attraction to another person. Say, what about wanderlust, or the urge to travel the world? The love of animals and plants, the love of stories, the love of music? Why do we limit it so much? It doesn't make sense, but in the end, Love will be harder to fight than Hate, and it won't give up or give in, hence a problem.   
Death looked at their list. It listed everything in the world, and their order and time. The next on their list would be hard. It was Love, who today we will call Amara, and she resented Death. It had long been like this: Love existed, and Death took those she loved. Love almost had a hateful relationship with Death, and Death felt regret, as they always did, but it was time to meet for the last time.   
You could usually find Amara in her garden, smelling the roses, pruning the bushes, tending to it and making it bloom, quite literally. She loved her roses, all of them, the cream, the scarlet red, the white, the pink. They flourished in her garden, and she flourished in their sight. Amara was tired, as love can be, but in the sight of her garden, she was filled with joy again.   
Near her sprawling garden was her cottage, a quaint and pretty little thing, with stone walls and a big hearth. It was always warm and cozy, and weary travellers would always be welcomed in her home. This establishment was in the middle of nowhere, but a very beautiful nowhere indeed, bright green hills and woodlands, oceans of grass always in the brightest spring. There were wild berries and streams, and wildlife roamed freely without fear. It was quite nice, in Amara’s terms, and it was a beautiful home.   
Amara was fingering her roses, admiring the rich colours and soft petals, when a dove entered her garden. It fluttered weakly to her hand, and Amara instant crooned and carried it inside. She poured a small bowl of water, and dish of seeds, and placed them in front of the gracious bird. It was after a few minutes before she realised there was a message attached to the doves leg. She unfurled it and read it with a frown, and she looked almost scared, and deeply upset. But she knew she had no choice but to go.   
She left her cottage frustrated, hair bouncing behind her as she stormed away from her home.   
Death waited, sitting on the altar, which was draped in white cloth. Around the altar there were white roses in buckets. The rest of the church was empty, no-one sat in the red pews, no-one stood in the aisle. It was a beautiful place, and Death felt that it was fitting. A church, where people vowed to be with each other forever. Surely that was a part of love. Death waited, waiting for the storm and the rage. For love could be terrible sometimes, and blinded by grief.   
Amara stormed in, slamming the doors opened with an unnatural force. Death winced; the doors were beautiful, intricately carved, they saw no reason to destroy them.   
“You,” is all Amara said, spitting the words out like they were poison. Fury transformed her once beautiful face into a horror, many white eyes flashing, tentacles whirling around the room. What a beautiful monster, Death thought, then sighed and said  
“Please, don't make this harder.” Internally, they begged, they pleaded to make it easy, to not make it a fight. But Amara wouldn't listen, and her wrath continued as she walked closer.   
“Never, you monster!” She shrieked, and Death cringed.   
“Please,” they asked once again. And again, she didn't listen, the pews crashing together, furious winds whipping through the sanctuary. Then, it quieted.   
“Fine,” she said with gritted teeth, face normal except for the grimace. Then she walked forward more calmly, finally reaching where Death sat. They stood, then held out a hand, internally sighing with relief, relief that she had listened to reason. It didn't cross their mind for one second that it may be a bluff.   
Until Amara pulled out a blade and plunged it into their chest with a horrifying ferocity.  
Death gasped and fell back, hand gripping the altar, which, once an innocent white, was stained with bright red drops of blood. There was a second of confusion in Amara’s eyes. She had gotten too caught up in the concept of Death being a horrible, unstoppable force that she had forgotten that they were a person too. And their blood wasn't black, or blue, or any colour except the scarlet of humanity. As Death slid down to the floor, clutching the wound, she felt horrible, the worst she'd ever felt, and felt bile rise up in her throat. She had forgotten, in the ferocity of grief for everyone Death had ever taken, that she was Love.   
“Oh my gods,” she whisper, covering her mouth with her hands. The hood had slid off of their head, and Amara could see who Death really was.   
“You're just a kid,” she whispered in horror. “Oh my- Oh my-”   
She quickly knelt down beside Death and grabbed their hand.   
“I get it now,” she murmured. “I'm ready.”   
And with a gust of wind, they were gone, leaving the church empty but for the swallow that swooped through and perched on the bloodied altar.   
Love is quite the vicious motivator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop dee doo I feel sorry for death (do you? Or am I just sentimental?)   
> Also keep in mind that this is more food for thought than like... actual writing. It's also not meant to be taken literally. At all. Just. Yep ok I'm going to move on


	5. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS MY FAVOURITE CHAPTER HOPE YOU ENJOY (SCREAMS)

Everything will fade.   
It will all fade away, out of existence, disappearing slowly, then growing in intensity until there's nothing but the darkness. It will start with the small things, the leaves on trees, the pages of a book, the birds. Death takes them with a welcoming hand, and they will follow. Death will sweep up the dust bunnies, the loose change, the acorns littering the ground. They will pick up trash and and gum, and then squirrels and rabbits and puddles. The pillows and ragged blankets, the mirrors and even the clouds. They will get bigger, taking the signs and the streets, and small offices, brick by brick, and they will disappear and they will walk on, and grab the mailboxes and the door handles and the stray dogs. Slowly, Death will take everything peacefully, lovingly taking the libraries, holding carefully onto the wedding rings and the flowers. When they walk, they stagger, and sometimes blood will drip as they limp by, and when it touches the grass it seems a bit shinier, and when it touches the roads the ground seems a bit less dusty and weary. Then they take the skyscrapers, the lamp posts, picking off people slowly as well. They do not die in agony, in fact, it is peaceful, and Death soon has those souls following them, following them to what comes after. Soon enough, the sky is gone, the stars are gone, the earth is gone, and so is the moon and sun. Soon, there is nothing but a strangely peaceful darkness, and the pearly light of all the people following Death, following as they walked through the sky and the unknown and eventually, through a wooden door into the light. Death sighs. Their job was almost done, so they rested on the doorstep of realities and pull out roll of bandages to wrap their still bleeding wound. Then they stared out into the dark, waiting with a sinking feeling in their stomach. The black is strangely comforting, in the end.   
Everything will fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnd the next chapter is the last! I hope this isn't horrible!!


	6. Day 0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have a crush on death? I guess you'll see  
> (This is supposed to be serious. Much serious.)

Death sits on the doorstep of existence, waiting for the the last thing they need to see.   
They sit quietly, thoughts tumbling inside their brain, worry wrenching their gut almost as much as the wound. Their cloak is wrapped around them tightly, the black fabric hiding all areas of weakness and humanity and identifying them as something made out to be more powerful than is was. They felt no need to have their hood up for this last meeting; after all, the person they would be seeing had already seen their face. I can hardly describe their face, partially out of respect for their mystery and personal wishes, but partially because there is no way to put into words the way Death looks. I will try to describe what I see, but the details will not honour them nearly as much as they deserve. Their lips were pursed in a small frown as they thought. Their hair brushed their eyes, in the softest dark curls you could imagine. Their eyes were like starlight and midnight blue with flecks of silver and a glimpse of purple, and they stared out into oblivion, seeing everything. All in all, Death was gorgeous in a very strange and surprisingly delicate way, looking very young for someone who had existed since almost the beginning.   
Finally, Death heard what they had been waiting for. It was a soft humming, the type of humming that conjured light even in the deepest darkness. They recognized it immediately, and while drawn to it, winced at its sound. It was the oldest thing, older than the universe, older than Time, or Truth, or the world and it's people. It was even older than Death. It was the creator of everything, the light and joy, it was the embodiment of hope and fresh green buds, of rich soil and laughter, it triumphed over everything, bringing a sense of peace to those near it, it was nameless, unable to be put into a human made word, so I will simply call it Life.   
As that's when she arrived, in all her splendor. Today, she had taken her best form, like one might put on a dress in fancy company. Her hair was golden ringlets with green streaks here and there, and a crown of white flowers adorned her head. She wore a blinding white dress with a green sash, and her feet were bare and everything glowed where she stood. Her mouth was turned up in a serene smile, and her eyes, the freshest green, pricked with speckles of turquoise, glittered. She was Life, and she was beautiful.   
In her sight, Death cringed, trying to back away from her blinding light. For Life and Death were opposites, and they could not bear each other's element.   
And then Life addressed Death by the oldest name, the name she gave to them and them only, a name I can not comprehend or write or translate. It was a powerful name, and full of respect. I can only say that it brings feelings of a purple sky and a stack of books and a deep, low thrum.   
Death addressed her back, using a name I can translate, but one that loses much of its meaning in the translation. It ends up meaning ‘Creator’, but that loses the splendor and the golden shine to it.   
Then they sat and stood respectively and did so in silence.   
“I see you've been injured,” Life said, head tilting as she looked at the wound.   
“Love can be quite vicious,” Death responded. The silence continued.   
“Are you ready?” Life asked softly, a hint of sadness in her voice. Death bit their lip.  
“No,” they responded, and they responded in what one could almost call fear. “I'm not ready at all.”   
Life smiled sadly. “None of us are,” she said quietly.  
“And here we are at the final question,” Death said. “What happens? One of us disappears forever? I don't call that winning.”   
“I suppose it comes down to that, yes,” Life murmured.   
“But what is the point in Death if there is no Life? Or Life without Death? It is an equilibrium, and only having one side would be pointless. But one of us must die.”   
They stood there in silence.   
“Take my hand,” Life said suddenly. Death cringed.   
“You know I can't do that,” they said, shaking their head slowly.   
“Trust me,” Life said firmly.   
As so Death, usually the one grabbing people by the hand, was grabbed by Life. How strange that that is how it would end, the balance restored by trust between opposites, and that Life took Death through the door after Death took everyone else.   
I cannot say that this is a happy ending, because it isn't exactly, but I know that on the other side of the door they all sit, waiting. Time, Wisdom, Ignorance, Love, Truth, Justice, Peace, And even Life and Death, they all sit in the white and wait. Wait for what? You might ask. I don't know. But they are not truly gone, like nothing ever is.   
They all sit on the doorstep of existence, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok that ending was bad but I finished it so Yayyyyyyyy  
> On a more serious note, I'd like to thank everyone's who's read this and not thought I was crazy. But haven't we all been there? 
> 
> Did you like it??? Post a comment OR add kudos!!!! (I will love you eternally if you do that)  
> Muchos gracias, mon amis

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments mean the world to me!!!!!!!!!


End file.
